The Art of Falling
by FragrantPowders
Summary: “We all fall at times,” Luna says, “but when it happens we simply have to learn how to fly.” OneShot. PansyLuna, mentions of PansyDraco.


**Title:** The Art of Falling

**Author: **FragrantPowders

**Beta: **Emma/monifieth, all remaining mistakes are my own.

**Pairing: **Pansy/Luna

**Rating: **T/PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Nothing you recognise belongs to me. Rowling is the mother of this universe and I only use it as my personal playground and make no profit of it. Don't sue.

**Author's Notes:** Angst and sadness ahoy.

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**The Art of Falling**

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Sixteen people fighting for the Order have fallen in battle; Draco is number seventeen _(which is oddly appropriate since he never lived to see his eighteenth birthday)_ in a long row of people that Pansy does not remember neither the faces nor the names of. These are the thoughts running through her head as Potter tells her that Draco has been killed _(another one down, how many more to go?)_, murdered by his own aunt who taunted him with having picked the losing side.

Potter puts his hand on Pansy's shoulder gently _(she has seen him do it to others too; for Potter it is a ritual by now, having done it sixteen times now added one)_, telling her Draco was a brave fighter, that his death will be mourned.

To Pansy it seems as if he is talking through a wall of cotton, his words muffled and trivial. All she can think about is that Draco is dead _(dead, dead, dead, dead)_ and she does not know whether to be relieved or angry _(to cry is not an option, he didn't mean anything to her)_. Falling into this deep, dark cleft of thoughts, she does not notice the faint traces of tears on Potter's cheeks or pay any attention to him as he closes the door softly after himself.

Leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor slowly, she remembers Draco from the first time she met him _(in a beautiful garden in France, they had been so little; pureblood children unaware of the world)_ to the last time she saw him _(yesterday he yelled at her just for being around when he didn't need her there)_. Pansy hides her face in her hands, pressing her forehead against her knees, her long, blonde hair shutting her away from the world _(the most cruel place, she wants to wake up from this nightmare)_.

She hears the door open and close, but refuses to acknowledge whoever it is that dares to interrupt her now _(he is dead, leave me be, he has fallen; let me fall apart in peace)_. The room is silent for a long time, the mingling of Pansy and her unnamed guest's breathing the only sound audible.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Pansy is not surprised that it is Luna because somehow she knew Luna would come _(Luna is always there when you don't want her to be)_. She does not care about the silent enquiry in Luna's pronunciation of her condolence, instead she looks up, meeting the Ravenclaw's misty blue eyes. They look at each other _(Luna always asks so many questions without even forming a single word, and Pansy does not want to answer her; not now, not ever)_ and the quiet stretches between them like a blanket, Luna's hand resting on the handle of the door, though she makes no movement to exit.

"Go away, Lovegood," Pansy snarls, running her hands through her hair and blinking angrily because her eyes are stinging _(it's all so fucking stupid)_. "No one asked you to show up, so go away." Her voice is breaking a little at the end, more begging than really commanding _(she hates herself for it, Luna should be smart enough to get the message)_.

Luna apparently is not. She just stands there, watching Pansy with wide sorrowful eyes, as if she understands; as if she understands **anything**_ (has her world ever fallen apart like this, does she even know what it means to lose?)_. Pansy gets to her feet slowly, glaring at Luna.

"Fuck off, Loony," she says coldly, "I don't need you." _(Pansy tells herself it's the truth, that she really doesn't need Luna and never has; last night was a mistake like the ten times before that)_.

Still Luna does not move. She lets go of the door handle slowly, stepping away from the door and sitting down on the bed, facing Pansy. She looks too innocent, sitting there on the ruffled grey duvet, but her eyes are far too knowing for Pansy's liking and far too wise for her age.

Pansy feels like screaming in frustration because Luna seems oblivious to her attempts at being left alone _(doesn't she understand that a part of the world Pansy felt safe in is gone – does she understand it too much?)_.

"I know how you feel," Luna says slowly, her voice soft and caring only with a slight dreamy _(more melancholic, really)_ edge to it; this is the Luna Pansy knows from their evenings at the loft. The Luna that tells her stories about the constellations of the stars and rambles about the books her father read to her when she was younger _(Pansy only listens because Luna makes you want to believe, to give in to that world)_.

"It's going to be okay, you'll see him again in due time."

… There is silence, an awful silence that presses at Pansy from all sides, suffocating her and trying to steal her breath and her soul away. She stares at Luna in disbelief, her hands curling into fists in her lap. An urge to get up and shake the other girl so violently that she will break from it rushes though her, burningly hot in her blood. How dare Luna keep believing when Pansy's world is ripped to pieces and falling to the ground like leafs in autumn? How dare she keep living in a dream when all Pansy's secret wishes and pink pictures of the world have already been proved false? How dare she… _(How dare she?)_

"Shut up!" Pansy whispers, her bottom lip trembling _(not because she is close to crying but because she is angry, furious)_. "You have NO idea what you're talking about," _(Luna always speaks of Nargles and beauty and other fables that are only part of a childhood long since over)_. "Luna, bloody hell – GROW UP!"

"Don't you see, it's your fault I couldn't be with Draco last night!" _(Draco was the first person she ever kissed, it's such a long time ago that she can barely remember it, but Luna's butterfly kisses from last night still stand vividly in her memory, her own giggling echoing in her ears)_.

"It's your fault nothing ended up as it was supposed to!" _(She should have been Mrs Malfoy; she should have been the mother of beautiful, blonde pureblood children who would look just like her when she was little; she should have had more evening dresses than stars on the night sky; she should have spent the last night Draco was alive in his bed with him, because she might not have loved him, but he was worth that much)_.

"It's your fault my life is a mess and I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Pansy screams, tears burning so close to the surface that she is afraid they will spill, and if they do she will break and Pansy Parkinson never breaks _(only when Luna touches her with gentle hands and giggling tells her about the bogeyman which lives under her bed, but then it's only Pansy's heart breaking because reality should not be so poignantly beautiful)_.

Luna's eyes close slowly at the last statement uttered in a high-pitched, desperate voice, and when she opens them again Pansy thinks they look a little too bright. However, she has neither the energy nor the time to ponder about it _(her heart beats so fast she fears it will pop out of her chest)_, because then Luna stands up and walks to the door determinedly. Pansy follows her with her gaze, the way her nails cut into her palms suddenly seeming too much, and why do her hands always end up like fists in the end? _(Who is it she's always fighting?)_

Luna opens the door; her pale, slender hand gripping the handle so hard her knuckles go white _(Pansy feels deep within her that when that door closes something will change, but she doesn't know if it's for the better or the worse)_. Before stepping out into the hallway Luna looks over her shoulder at Pansy, sending her a little sad smile which are mirrored in her eyes _(those eyes that are too open to the world, is she not afraid of getting hurt?)_

"We all fall at times," she says kindly as if she was talking to a scared horse instead of a girl who has just blamed her for the death of her schoolmate and friend, "but when it happens we simply have to learn how to fly."

Pansy looks away, the soft click of the door finally leaving her in peace _(if this can be called peace, is her heart meant to feel as if it has been wrenched like a used cloth?)_. She does not realise she is crying before the tears start to drip down onto her hands. For an endless moment she stares at the small, salty droplets, then her shoulders start to shake and she buries her face in her hands. She does not recognise the world she is suddenly faced with _(why did her mother never tell her it would be this hard to be alive?)_ and she does not know what to do with herself now. _(GROW UP, she told Luna, but maybe it isn't Luna who needs to grow up when it comes down to it)_.

As the starlings gather in the evening to thank the deities for yet another autumn day with an impossible blue sky and warm breezes to make the trees sway in a gentle dance, Pansy sits alone in her chamber, breaking apart; the pieces falling to the ground in slow-motion _(flapping their small angelic wings frantically)_


End file.
